


The Devil Himself

by vici_diem



Category: Arkham Knight - Fandom, Batman - Fandom, Red Hood - Fandom, Red Hood and the Outlaws, batman arkham knight
Genre: Arkham Knight, Batman - Freeform, F/M, Gotham, Jason Todd - Freeform, Party, Red Hood - Freeform, Robin - Freeform, dc, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 03:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10324634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vici_diem/pseuds/vici_diem
Summary: It's just a short scene from a first-person's POV. Enjoy.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [THE REAL KIT.](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=THE+REAL+KIT.).



The music is blaring through the speakers around the room, the beats making it seem like the walls are vibrating. People are dancing, grinding against each other like a big giant orgy. The ones who were not on the dance floor were either making out, staring at each other in their deluded eyes, or swaying to the music. Except for one. 

Instead of joining the rest of the humanity, he sits on the stool by the bar, twirling the tiny straw in his drink and take a swig. His face scrunched up for a few seconds at the taste and he continues to stare into space, after ordering another. 

Someone bumped into me on the dance floor, nearly knocking me and my drink over by thankfully for my reflex, I managed to regain my footing and move closer to the disgusting grimy wall, with a couple making out next to me. I turn my back on them and focus on him instead. The man with the white-stripped hair, drinking to oblivion. There is just something about him that seemed to catch my attention. Was it the fact that he’s different from the rest of them?

I move closer to him but just as I was about to make my move, he walks off the stool, leaving his drink alone. I carefully follow him as he walks toward the exit, dumping my drink on the floor. He gave his slip to the coat check guy and put on his black leather jacket, looking like one of the lost cast members of Rebel Without A Cause. 

As the door closes behind him, I run out, hoping that I didn’t lose him. But when I got out and come face to face at the lifeless parking lot, disappointment lodging in my chest, a hand covers half of my face and I shouted. I smell alcohol through the hand that is covering me, then a chest hits my back and I stiffen. Without further thought, my elbow connected to his ribs but he didn’t budge, only tightening his grip. 

“Why are you following me?” the voice demanded and he finally showed his face by leaning my head backwards. It’s the guy from the bar.

I held his gaze, staring into his dark blue eyes, but my leg is moving. It connected with his crotch and he finally releases me, dropping to his knees, wincing at the pain, a few ‘motherfuckers’ thrown around as I take a deep breath now that I get to breathe normally again. 

I turn back, he was still kneeling, murder in his eyes. Murder and something else, shock? It’s not everyday that one could feel this powerful, especially when you’re a woman. So I look down at him, and thought, ‘What a great picture this would be, a man kneeling at a woman.’ 

“Why are you following me, you bitch?” he repeated, with more vile in his voice. He have such beautiful voice, that I just want to bottle it up and save it. 

“Honestly, I don’t know.” I shrugged, which is the truth. I just couldn’t seem to find the reason but to follow him. 

He scoffed, feeling stupid, then walk towards the gorgeous motorcycle that was parked close to the row of expensive cars. He didn’t seem to care that the area was reserved for the rich and powerful and the valet seemed to be too scared to move his motorcycle. He must be someone important, someone as equally powerful to strike fear at a mere mortal’s hearts. But it didn’t strike fear on mine, it gives me something more. Is he the devil?

He climbs onto the motorcycle and I try not to admire his ass. Don’t wanna seem like a creep. And to my surprise, he hands me his red helmet. Odd that his motorcycle’s black but his helmet his blood red. I look at it the helmet as if it is some mythical creature. He raises his eyebrow, then tell me, “Well are you going to take it?”

I could only nod in my shocking state. I put it on, uncaring of how messy my hair would be. And thank god I decided to wear pants today, because I can’t imagine wearing a dress and riding a motorcycle. Now where shall I put my hands? 

He starts the engine and my heart along with it. Fuck it, I thought, and put my arms around his waist. I could feel him stiffen a little and I smile, leaning my chin against his shoulder as we venture off of this stinking place.


End file.
